Terminal
by casgetouttamyass
Summary: John has been diagnosed with a fatal tumour. Sherlock's been gone for two years. After John posts an announcement on his blog about his condition, a mysterious figure wakes him up at midnight. Is this enough to bring back the world famous detective? This will be sad, sorry in advance. No ships involved- No Johnlock (sherohn), No Mary/John, or Sherlolly. This is about John.
1. Chapter 1

Terminal

Chapter 1: The News

_I don't know much medical stuff, don't judge :/_

This is my first Sherlock story, please enjoy and review! (p.s. Mary will not be appearing in this story- but Johnlock won't really be a thing either. These are just two best friends. That's all.)

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_It's been two years since Sherlock jumped. Two long years of a lonely and cold Baker Street, and two months since the headaches began.__  
_

_I know I should have been to see someone before now. Maybe there would have been some treatment to save me, but I doubt it. I've got a tumour, roughly 6cms long. Doesn't seem like much does it? _

_Still, I'm glad. I've got six months left, which basically six months until I can see Sherlock again. _

John was shaken out of his writing trance, his announcement on his blog that he was in fact, dying, as the bell rang again, more insistently.

_One clear ring, maximum pressure on the half-second._ Client.

After old Mrs Fahren had left, now knowing where all her money had gone, John returned to his announcement post, finished it, and posted it. _And now, here comes the well-wishes, and the "I know you can do it John. Fight!"._

The thing was, John was sick of fighting. He was sick and tired of living in Baker Street by himself, with only Mrs Hudson for company, and seeing touches Sherlock everywhere, from the skull that hadn't moved from the mantelpiece, to the violin, leaning on his black chair. Mrs Hudson dusted of course, but nothing had been touched since… well then.

John made himself a cup of tea, and resumed his warm spot on the armchair, as his laptop pinged with notifications from his blog. Eventually, they stopped, and John turned it off and went to bed.

"_SHERLOCK!" _

_No, no no…_

"_He's my friend, let me through please, he's my friend…"_

_A cold hand, no pulse. _

John woke up and dry heaved over the side of his bed. He wasn't sure why he had woken up- normally he woke up in terror after the whole funeral mess. He turned on the lamp beside his bed, and as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light, John found himself fighting of a major headache.

_Ah yes, I have a tumor. It's going to hurt most of the time._

John wiped his eyes, and abruptly paused as he saw what had woken him. A dark shadow was perched on his windowsill, which was blowing a cold London breeze into his room.

He slowly reached under his pillow, and brought out his gun and aimed it at the intruder.

"Get up, turn around. Now."

He saw the figure slowly do as he asked, but he still couldn't see their face.

"Who the _hell _are you? When do I ever see clients in the middle of the night?"

A very familiar voice answered. Too familiar. Too deep, and too musical.

"Who said I was a client?"

Nope, nope- Hell no. It's not-

"Sh-Sherlock?"

The figure moved into the light, pale skinned, and a lot skinnier than when he had died. Well, apparently didn't die.

"You're dead! You had no p-pulse and…" John trailed off, forgetting what he was saying. He shook his head in frustration. "Your… DAMMIT!"

"John please, calm down. You are experiencing dysphasia, and it will do you not good to be… upset." His deep voice broke and wavered, and John finally _saw _him. He looked extremely anxious and concerned, not to mention sleep-deprived and in desperate need of some sort nourishment.

"You saw the blog post."

"Yes."

"Ah."

"John… Please. We have to get through this, beat it, and you never will if you are physically drained. Please.. just go back to sleep. I promise I'll stay right here."

John barely heard him, as he slipped into unconsciousness from the shock of it all.

Please review :)


	2. Chapter 2- I'm Not Allowing It

Chapter 2: I'm Not Allowing It

_~Thanks guys for reviewing I'm glad someone, like me, was sick of everything bad happening to Sherlock. I hope you all continue enjoying/secretly hating this story. I personally enjoy more of Martin Freeman's personality in John, so voila.~_

"John. John. JOHN HAMISH WATS- Oh you're awake."

John opened one eye. _Sherlock. _Wait…

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock visibly sighed in relief "John I thought you were-" He was cut off, as John launched off the bed, tackling Sherlock to the ground.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES! DO YOU THINK THIS IS A _GAME_? Oh yes, lets jump off a _building _and make John suffer through your _funeral _and then only come back after I wrote on my blog that I WAS DYING!" John spat out.

"Shh-"

"EXCUSE ME?"

"Shh John, I don't want everyone knowing I'm still alive-"

"OH, SO IT'S STILL A SECRET?"

"Yes, as long as you don't tell anyone-"

"SWEAR TO GOD."

John realized the idiot turn this conversation had ended and stopped, glaring at Sherlock through the red pain-mist covering his eyes.

"John, do you feel okay?" Sherlock was looking at him in concern.

John walked over to the window and pulled the curtain shut.

"Too much god-damn light. I'm making tea."

"I can get it if you want?"

"Hell no, Mr-Oh-The-Sugar-Might-Be-Drugged,-Lets-Put-It-In-John's-Tea."

"There was a lot of sarcasm in that sentence."

"There was supposed to be."

John walked out to the kitchen, head still reeling from the weird night he'd had, and the MRI from two days ago. He reached for the tea, and brushed a cold, bony hand, where he promptly jumped and swore.

"Sorry… but I really can do it for you."

John grumbled in assent and went and sat down in his armchair. He pulled out his laptop to look at his blog comments.

_Oh Christ mate, that's horrible news. You'll get better, we all know it- _Mike Stamford.

_Oh my god John, you aren't dying on me don't you dare! We will fight and you will live.- _Molly Hooper.

_John, I:m ur sister. Why cant u pick up the godamn fone and call me?_- Harry

John sighed and logged off. Predictable. He jumped at the sound of a tea tray being put next to him. Cautiously, he reached for the tea cup and took a sip.

"No sugar right? Or was it no milk? I'm sorry John I can't remem-"

"It's perfect."

Sherlock relaxed and carefully sat on the chair opposite John. John noticed with a start, that Sherlock's right hand was trembling.

_You're not haunted by the war, Dr Watson. You miss it._

"What happened to you?"

Sherlock looked up in confusion. John decided he'd impress the smarmy dick.

"Tremor in your right hand, clearly, some distress has only recently happened. There are some scars on your neck, and a new big one under your hairline, it appears you've grown that ridiculous mop longer to hide it, hoping no one would notice. Maybe you've visited your mother?

You walk and sit down gingerly, obviously favouring your back, and since you aren't leaning back in your chair I'd guess that there are surface wounds, such as whip marks, or tell-tale signs of an obvious beating, which (as we have just observed from your right hand) happened very recently- if I could see them I'd have a better idea, but I will suggest- 2-3 weeks ago?"

Sherlock was staring at John, confusion evident.

"Someone had to continue your stupid bloody business didn't they?"

Sherlock stood up and took off his jacket, then proceeded to unbutton his shirt.

He turned, and John saw whip marks (John: 1, Sherlock: 0) on the younger mans back. But where John had guess-imated 2-3 weeks, these were fresh. Couldn't have happened more than 3 or 4 days ago.

"Five days ago," Sherlock said softly, like he knew what John was thinking. (Dammit. John: 1, Sherlock: 1)

"Very good John, but not 2-3 weeks, and I didn't grow my hair out to fool my mother- I did it to fool you." Sherlock chuckled quietly to himself as he slowly dressed himself again. (John: 1, Sherlock: 2).

"Like I said, someone had to do it. And that someone spent a long time walking around this place trying to think like you, before poor Mrs Hudson came up to visit, and in 1 minute flat I deduced she had had a fight with her sister about her cocaineproblem and was seeing two different men."

"Really? Well, she's dumped one- and it's marijuana, not cocaine."

John frowned; he'd missed those. (John 1, Sherlock: 4).

"Ex-opium addict John, I had background knowledge. But, all-in-all John, you've done very well."

Sherlock was looking at him carefully again. "When?"

"Last week."

Sherlock frowned and began pacing. "But your headaches started before that?"

"Yes- two months before."

Sherlock turned, fury written on his face. "And you didn't think there was something WRONG with that?!"

John laughed quietly. "Yes."

"Then… why?"

"Sherlock… I didn't care."

~_Remember to review guys, it keeps the story going :-)~_


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